


Windfall

by LeoOtherLands



Series: All the Broken Pieces [24]
Category: Predator Original Series (1987-1990)
Genre: Because I Needed It..., Disabled Character, Light Smut, M/M, Mutual Pining, Naked Cuddling, POV Multiple, Possessiveness, Star Gazing, Tenderness, Vaginal Sex, fluffy feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-11
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-09 19:26:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,174
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27501511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LeoOtherLands/pseuds/LeoOtherLands
Summary: Noah waited around for the hunter to come back. Eventually, the hunter did.
Relationships: Yautja (Predator)/Original Male Character(s)
Series: All the Broken Pieces [24]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1386661
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	1. Windfall: Noah

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Tridraconeus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tridraconeus/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Haven](https://archiveofourown.org/works/23143390) by [Tridraconeus](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tridraconeus/pseuds/Tridraconeus). 



> There are things you write just because you need to feel good. This was one of those. That said, major shout out to Tridraconeus for not minding me using your characters. These two make me feel better inside.
> 
> Are you cryin' tonight, are you  
> Feelin' alright  
> I'll tell the world that you are,  
> Down on your luck, you were  
> One of the kind  
> One who'd never give in  
> Even when they put a price on your head
> 
> Has anyone heard the tales you tell  
> Or seen the scars you wear  
> Did anyone speak up when you fell  
> Does anybody care
> 
> Rise again little fighter  
> And let the world know the reason why  
> Shine again little fighter  
> And don't let 'em end the things you do
> 
> Are you feelin' alright  
> 'Cause I care
> 
> Rise again little fighter  
> And let the world know the reason why  
> Shine again little fighter  
> And don't let 'em end the things you do
> 
> [White Lion - Little Fighter](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=i82NufKFzPE)

**November 4, 2004**

**Ohio**

The roof was cold beneath my back, the shingles rough and catching on the hoodie I’d hurriedly pulled on when I’d finally given up on sleep, crawled my ass out of bed, hauled it upstairs, and ungracefully clambered out the window of my old bedroom. Logically, in that part of my mind which _knew better_ , I understood even just going up my stairs with how my damned leg was acting up and being a bitch from the weather shift wasn’t the smartest plan, forget about climbing out a window too. But another part of my mind, a stubborn part, insisted the roof was the best place to see the stars and it was the stars I wanted to see. The stars that’d been keeping me from sleeping the past however many nights.

Though, leaving my crutch leaned up against my old bed and getting myself out on a roof in nothing but a hoodie and my cotton sleeping pants was likely not the best plan in the world. Only early November or not, it was cold. Unseasonably cold and the brittle shingles digging into me were beginning to make the throbbing ache in my leg worse. I was just about to give it up, admit defeat and stupidity, and go back inside, or at least try to haul my ass back inside, maybe take a shower to get the chill and _ache_ out of me, when some not-so-subtle sounds and a scraping on the shingles below me drew my attention down with a snap.

Nothing there.

Nothing there but a blur that warped the night sky behind it and the view of my chicken coop and raised garden beds down on the ground. A blur I recognized instantly.

“Fucker!” The expletive burst out of me, even as I attempted to push myself up, and only succeeded in boosting myself on my elbows before wincing and half flopping back down on the shingles. “Well, you might as well have a seat if you’re here,” I groused. “I wasn’t expecting you, so don’t expect me to play gracious host.” That came out a bit harsher than I’d intended, but I _hurt_ , damn it. And it was mostly the hunter’s fault I was up here, anyway.

It would have been reasonable for him to be annoyed by me and my tone, but whatever he wanted this time, the hunter didn’t seem to take my tongue lashing personally. His outline wavered a bit more, then, whatever cloak he used to blend in with his background like a chameleon, fell off and the massive hulk of him was taking the last step or two toward me and settling cross-legged next to me.

I frowned at him, belatedly and rather sickeningly, wondering how my roof had the weight capacity to support him. The hunter wasn’t _small_ and it was probably a good thing I had sturdy beams or we’d both fall through. If the hunter had any thought of his being load inappropriate for this part of my house, he gave no sign. Just sat there with his clawed hands clasping his knees and his head turned toward me.

Some part of me wanted to be further annoyed with him for his perpetual way of thinking he could just barge into my life anytime he wanted, but the thought of the hunter’s size had raised other ideas to the forefront of my mind, beside the possibility of our falling through my roof. Notions of what he had wanted the last time he’d just shown up in my house painted my cheeks with a dull burn and I turned my face away. If the hunter wanted another tussle, I wasn’t in the best position for it at the moment. Both because I was on a god forsaken _roof_ and because my leg was one sore _bitch_.

Not that I _wouldn’t_ give it a go, if he really encouraged it. Hell, what was a broken roof?

“You know,” I started slow, tilting my chin up to the sky, trying to force those thoughts away, “I was up here the week before we met that first time, when I was fifteen. I took three of… well, not so much my friends, but some people I knew up here and we watched the stars. I made a wish on a shooting star that night, only I forgot what it was I wished for almost as soon as I thought it. After, the four of us went inside and fell asleep on the living room floor. It wasn’t much of a night.”

I almost missed the way the hunter cocked his head toward me. Almost, but not quite, and I frowned again, breaking off my rambling narrative to turn the frown at him again. What was that obvious look and the way his grip tightened on his knees for? Was he jealous of that night so long ago, spent with a couple of kids? Doubtful. I must have been projecting feelings on simple gestures. Must have been.

Grumbling, I jerked my chin back at the sky. “Anyway. The stars were different that night. It was summer then and it’s almost winter now. Different season, different sky map.” I raised my hands and made a shrugging motion with my palms up. “Doesn’t matter. Do you look at the stars where you come from? I can only imagine what you would name the constellations. Not that humans are that great at it, really.”

I stopped and cast him a look. The hunter had relaxed a bit, listening to me rant. When it was clear I’d stopped for a moment, << _Stars_ >> he repeated. And what had I expected? It was clear the hunter could _talk_ if he wanted to, but he’d never been much of a conversationalist and was giving no indication of what he wanted, either.

“Yeah, stars,” I muttered moodily. “Right up there, to the northeast, is the Big Dipper or Ursa Major, if you want to get technical.” I traced the stars’ pattern with my finger, so he could see where I meant, precisely. “A little to the southwest of Ursa Major is Ursa Minor, the Little Dipper. That star right there, at the end of the dipper’s handle, is the Polaris, the North Star. Humans have been using the Polaris to navigate for thousands of years. If you know the stars and can find Polaris, you always know where you are.”

Dropping silent a moment and dropping my hand, I purposefully did not look at the hunter. I found I didn’t want to know how he was looking at _me_. Not right then. Right before I pointed up again.

“The brightest constellation in the winter sky is Orion. Orion, well, Orion is special. He makes the shape of a man holding a shield, see?” I traced over the stars with a finger, indicating the pattern for him. “The four main stars that make up Orion’s body are Rigel, Betelgeuse, Bellatrix, and Saiph. And those three stars, the ones that make up his belt, those are Alnitak, Mintaka, and Alnilan.

“But Orion doesn’t stand up there alone. If you draw a line through the belt, to the lower left of the constellation, you’ll reach a star called Sirius. Sirius is the brightest star in the whole of the night sky, and it is a piece of Canis Major, one of Orion’s hunting dogs. Just above Canis Major is Canis Minor, Orion’s other dog.”

I dropped into another silence and glanced to the hunter and away. “Orion contains two of the brightest stars in the sky, one of the three stars making up his sword, just below his belt, is actually not a star but a nebula, and the constellation is home to not one, but two, meteor showers. But none of those things is what really makes Orion unique.

“The stars…they’re not _still_. They might look like it, but in truth, every star in the sky is moving apart from all the others. One day, every constellation humans know will have warped into something else. But Orion… his stars are moving apart, too, but they are located so much further from earth, that the constellation will remain recognizable long after most others, with stars closer to earth, have shifted into new shapes.

“Orion has been up there as long as humans have been looking up and giving the stars names. And he’ll still be up there long after there aren’t any of us left who’ll remember his name. In a way, you could say he’s constant. Always there. I’ve seen him ride up the sky every fall since my grandfather taught me the sky maps and how to spot him, and I’ve watched him drop below the horizon as each winter turns to spring. Sometimes I find myself talking to him…”

Grunting annoyance I’d let _that_ out, I risked another glance at the hunter, expecting I was boring or aggravating him with my ridiculous lecture on burning balls of gas hanging in space that he probably knew more about than me. Only, he was still just sitting there, head cocked and listening to me. << _Orion_ >> he said when I didn’t say anything for a while.

Nope, definitely not the greatest conversationalist. Though, maybe I was no great catch there, either. After all, I was just ranting about _stars_. Real uninteresting, even if they had been obsessing me the past weeks.

I sighed, feeling the ache in my leg and remembering I had been about to go in when my uninvited guest arrived. As if the thought had summoned it, the muscle in the damn thing spasmed and I grimaced, wishing I could get my hands on it. But getting up and massaging some of the pain away wasn’t so easy. Even sitting up at this point would be a chore.

“Yeah, Orion.” I shut my eyes and shivered. “Orion. He’s called the Hunter.” If he was intrigued by this fact, I disclosed purposefully last in my discussion of the grouping of stars, he didn’t show it. His head turned from me to the stars and then back, but that was all, and I just moved on.

“That first fall after you fucked up my leg, I looked up and there he was in the sky. It made me think about you.”

I grimaced at the sky. “But then, everything made me think of you because everything fucking _hurt_. Still… Orion… he brought you to mind often because I just didn’t have anything to _call_ you. I think after I saw him that time, somewhere in the back of my mind, I started thinking of you as Orion, even if I never really _called_ you that.

“Ouch! Fuck!”

The last exclamations at last drew the hunter’s full attention on me and he made a clicking noise, as I did a pretty stupid, but unavoidable thing, and curled into a ball on the slanted roof. I damn near rolled off and joined my empty vegetable beds on the ground, but didn’t even notice, pain tears clouding my eyes. My leg hurt hella bad. It didn’t seem to matter what I did or didn’t do, if I took it easy on the thing or not, the growing cold just had it seizing up for no other good reason, at the worst possible times.

Like when I was on a roof…

Luckily, was it lucky?, the hunter was there with me and he caught me before I could fall. His massive hands picked me up, and, making hissing, chittering sounds, he carried me down the slant of my roof, and back into my old bedroom. It always surprised me how gracefully the hunter could move, despite his bulk. When he wanted to be, he was utterly silent. Which only aggravated me because he obviously had wanted me to know he was there and now he was carrying me around.

“Alright already!” I snapped when he had me inside and still hadn’t put me down. “Let go of me!” The last was accompanied by an ineffective slap to his bicep, more to tell him I was tired of being hauled like a compliant sack, then because I thought it would do me any good. I might as well have been slapping a rock and I instantly regretted it, grimacing at the pain in my hand.

The hunter took it seriously, though. As when he’d wrestled with me in a prelude to… his last visit’s main even, the hunter took my pointless maneuver as if it’d been more than a minor annoyance and bent to it. He turned and deposited me on my old bed. In one move, making me glad when, after my first two years following college, I’d finally given up stubbornly hobbling up and down the stairs to bed every day and remodeled the den into a bedroom, I’d left the old, heavy thing up here in what had once been my room. At the time, it’d just been easier. Now it was a windfall.

One that left me sputtering. I’d wanted the hunter to put me down on my _feet_ , where I could get my crutch and get myself downstairs. Not half-gently manhandle me onto my stomach on my bed.

“Hey!” I demanded, struggling futilely and just succeeding to knock over my crutch in my flailing. The thing clattered on the floor and rolled and skittered away and I went red in the face, yet again remembering my last tussle with the hunter and where it’d led and not sure if that was where he was headed with this anymore than I was sure if the color in my cheeks was because I was frustrated or hoping the hunter wanted more than to have a go at wrestling.

Whatever he wanted, the hunter didn’t respond to my verbal barrage, and, shaking, I aimed a kick at him with my good leg. The hunter caught my ankle with one paw and held me down with the other firmly centered in the small of my back.

<< _Still_ >> he insisted, and not having much choice, I stopped wiggling. Only then becoming aware of the fact I wasn’t so much shaking from exertion as shivering. My teeth were chattering and my fingers and toes were tingling as they warmed. Worse, I could feel the cold in my muscles, like a dull burn, now that I was inside and the heat was seeping into me, to war with the chill. It was no wonder my leg was spasming. Every year, the on-coming cold fucked with it, only this year had been particularly bad and I’d stupidly just stuck myself out on a roof in the bitter pre-dawn.

“Shit,” I muttered in annoyance at myself and him, followed by, “Mother fucker!” when the hunter used his hold on my leg to shuck my pants off. Despite how messed up I was, I would have tried to have a go at him if the heel of his palm hadn’t come down on the muscle of my bad leg and started to rub at the back of my thigh.

If his hands had felt hot the last time, they were like fire now, with how frigid my skin was, and my leg instantly responded. The muscle jerked, then fairly unwound under his knuckles and wide palm. Melted, went liquid and pliable, even as I moaned, “Oh, god.” I had just time to realize how that sounded, how plaintive and wanton it was in equal parts, before I let out, “Well, don’t stop!” in a testy demand, when the hunter paused.

He resumed his rubbing, chittering behind his helm, and I let myself go limp under him. His ministrations were having the double effects of warming me up and making my leg feel less fucked and I wasn’t about to complain on that score. It was oddly nice to have the hunter taking care of me a bit. That wasn’t the problem. The problem was elsewhere.

I’d half wondered if the hunter would come back relatively soon after our encounter in my living room, only he hadn’t and I’d stopped waiting around. Grousing at how long he was taking about showing up in my life and turning it upside down at his own whim. I was fairly sure he _would_ come back at some point, but he took so long about it I started doing stupid shit, like climbing on roofs to look at stars that reminded me of him, and now he was here and his hands were dangerously close to where I wanted them.

My life had gotten goddamned weird a long time ago, but somewhere along the line I’d stopped caring.

By the time he was done rubbing me, my leg was relaxed, if still sore, and I was wet and wondering if he noticed it. I was pretty sure he did, but the hunter didn’t say anything or make a move, once he took his hands away. Free, I turned over and half sat up, using my palms to prop myself up.

The hunter was more or less on the bed with me, making me extra glad the thing was old and sturdy, or we’d both likely end up on the floor. Though that was an afterthought. My mouth was dry and I was still shivering with half-cold and it was easy to tell I wasn’t the only one more than casually interested in a repeat of our last meeting. The hunter never wore much, not even now, in the cold, and it was clear to see his arousal pushing at the armored loincloth he had on.

Well good.

I would have preferred another tussle with him, a mock fight like we’d indulged in the last time, but I had the feeling my leg wouldn’t hold me if I tried standing and my crutch was somewhere off on the floor, anyway. But basically limp or not, I bared my teeth at him in a challenge I knew he would see through, and growled, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Apparently, only my invitation. Rumbling what I took for low, pleased sounds, the hunter moved to take off his article of clothing, and I followed suit, tugging off my hoodie and tossing it on the floor. Fuck being cold. The hunter would be warm, no, _hot_.

My anticipation was correct. The hunter lifted me by my hips and settled me on his lap, on his dick, actually, slowly lowering me down onto him, while I groaned and doubled over against him. My legs were practically split around him and my arms had slipped around his neck and into his dreadlocks, my head lolling on his shoulder. Somehow, in the time between our last meeting and this one, I’d forgotten just how big the hunter was.

Quasi-pain swam through my lower half, but it was momentary and the hunter gave me time to adjust before he started testing our connection with a gentle rocking motion from below. Once sure I wasn’t about to complain, he went faster and despite what I wanted to do, all I could manage was to hold on or fall off.

“Oh, god,” I groaned out again, nose buried in his dreadlocks and nails unintentionally wracking over his shoulders and upper-back, drawing little lines of fluorescent blood from his skin. I didn’t mean to do that and I reasoned I’d be sorry for it later, but that logic was turning over in a barely conscious part of my mind. Everything at the forefront of me was caught up in the hunter and the feel of him inside me.

What registered first was the smell of him. Something earthen, but not _earth_ , not like anything I smelled when I took my bow and the retractable sword, he had left with me, down into the valley, and I wondered if this was the residual scent of his home clinging to him. The far-off smell of the hunter’s planet lingering in his dreadlocks and mixing with his personal musk.

The feel of his skin under my nails and the drag of his cock buried far deeper in me than should have been possible came next and claimed the majority of my ability to think. He was _hot_ , as I knew he would be, and having him in me was like being heated from the inside. A thin line of warmth spread out from him, to bloom into a wave suffusing my lower half. The rest of me warmed slower, but warmed all the same from where the hunter’s skin met mine. His hands were on my back and our chests were pressed together. Without even knowing it or thinking about it, I stopped shivering and just started squirming, my nails digging deeper.

I wanted to move, damn it. I wanted to match him thrust for thrust, but with no leverage, and a leg that didn’t want to cooperate and damn well do what I told it to, I was forced to rely on the hunter to set our pace. Luckily, he rammed up into me at a demanding one, despite his position under me, and with no delusion of my being _breakable_. Facts which again made me glad my old bed was sturdy. But facts which also had me _close_ far too soon.

“I want to… to…” I panted somewhere in the vicinity of where I assumed what passed as his ear would be. It was an incoherent statement of desire, but the hunter appeared to understand, or to relate my words back to our last encounter, and he took a paw from my back to do for me what I couldn’t do for myself without toppling over. Purring a sound like pleasure, he rubbed at my clit with the pad of a thumb, being careful to mind his claw, which could have easily torn me apart.

“Ngh! Ehhh!” I had the feeling I meant the exhalations to be actual words, but the hunter’s mindful care of my clit had me tumbling over an edge to orgasm and real articulation escaped me. Somehow, I was just clinging to his neck and trembling, with that foreign-earth scent all around me and the hunter hissing gently as the burning proof of his own release trickled between us.

“Fuck,” I gasped. A moment or two of blinking to get my vision back from blurry, post-sex delirium, and, “Fuck, could you put me down?” Because of course the hunter was still _big_ and that was all well and good, but I needed some time to put myself back together.

The hunter complied with my request with another rumbling sound that could have been amusement. Gripping my hips again and easing me off him and unto my side on the bed. His claws grazed over the skin of my off-kilter legs, as if enjoying the sight of his fluids leaking out of me. Not to mention tickling me in a soft way and reminding me faintly glowing, alien cum, and now blood, were pooling on the comforter we sat on.

Groaning, I pushed myself up on an elbow. “We should go shower…” My words petered out as I eyed the door, which led to the hall, which led to the stairs… “Ah, screw it!” I huffed. “I don’t have the energy for this shit tonight.”

The hunter turned his head to watch me pluck disconsolately at the comforter and repeat << _Shit_ >> before getting what I was at and helping me. He yanked the top comforter out from under me and off the bed, gave me and himself a quick once over with it, to remove the worst of residual sex, and tossed it off on the floor somewhere to join my crutch and clothes. Wherever they were. Once done, he laid out a bit awkwardly on the bed, corner to corner in order to accommodate his height, and pulled me up on top of him and tossed a light blanket over us both.

He had me arranged so my bad leg rested in the dip his legs created, letting his body heat continue to sooth it, and his hands ran up and down my back, as if wanting to take all of me in or assure himself I was very much his. All of which was just dang _fine_ and only served to stoke a hot, little something down in my chest. The thing that’d kept me up nights and driven me out on a roof to go star gazing.

Letting my palms rest on his chest and prop me up just a bit, I stared at him, this hunter who kept popping up in my life and marking me as _his_ in so many ways, ranging from the symbol he had carved in the heft of my knife, to these moments of intimacy. “Damn it! Come back a little sooner next time, why don’t you!”

It was a demand and I didn’t realize there was burning, prickling, _frustrated_ , water in my eyes, until the hunter reached up to smudge the liquid off my cheeks with his fingers.

<< _Come back_ >> he replied, and I pushed at his fingers, to get them away from my face.

“Alright! Enough already!” I sputtered, annoyed at myself for the sudden outburst. “Yeah. You did come back.”

The hunter seemed fazed neither by my brashness, nor my acquiescence. He just intertwined his fingers with the ones I tried to use to push him away and used them to pull my hands and arms up, so they were dangling around his neck and my head was pillowed on his chest, over his heartbeat. Then, as I settled there, he released me and his hands went back to the thigh of my sore leg. He rubbed at it, caressing small circles into it, more or less to let me know he was there.

I mumbled intelligible things, but I was drifting already, with my fingertips in his dreadlocks and his steady beating heart under my ear. Warm and only semi-sore, I had it in me to wonder if he would still be there in the morning. If I would have to contend with him, as well as getting down the stairs, come daylight.

The hunter. My Orion. The unexpected something I kept stumbling upon, like a strange windfall, at different points in my life. Whether a boon or a doom, I didn’t know. Maybe… didn’t care to know.


	2. Windfall: Predator

I thought about going back and visiting my Not-Prey, _Noah_ , my mind persisted in reminding me, as soon as I was allowed to return to Earth, but things kept getting in the way. _Distracting_ me. A Bad Blood I needed to hunt down, an unexpectedly lengthy hunt for a tenacious Prey, the decision to attempt taking a xenomorph again, which ended with my being injured. Ultimately, I killed the xenomorph and the injury was an admirable one, leaving me with a new, attractive scar I wore with pride, but it’d taken time to heal, even with medigel and other methods of treatment. I was _distracted_ , and Earth a distant thought.

Distant, but not far from my mind all at once. I’d paired with my Not-Prey and it’d been more than a casual and uninteresting union, just as the Not-Prey had been far from unwilling. He’d shared as voracious a desire as I had, his nails ripping into me until I’d bled, and no matter how _distracted_ I allowed myself to become, my Not-Prey was never completely absent from my thoughts. How could he be? The marks of his nails, faint as they were, were still easily seen on my hide.

I would be on a hunt, sitting in some place, waiting to spy the Prey, and I would find myself skimming my claws over the marks of the Not-Prey’s blunt nails and his scarred face would rise before my eyes, as if I’d captured it with my helm and could replay it anytime I wished. This notion would remind me how I had made those scars and how the Not-Prey wore them so thoughtlessly, like a Yautja. He wasn’t ashamed of his scars in the way I noted most humans were. He didn’t try to cover them up, he accepted them like they were part of what made him who he was. Admirable.

Attractive.

Just as attractive as how tantalizingly open his features had been in that one moment of torn up pleasure when I’d had him up against his wall. That image never failed to make me want to smell his aroused scent seeping through the filters of my helm and to have his legs split around my hips. Despite the fact my Not-Prey was human, and therefore somewhat delicate, he was a desirable mate.

The thought never failed to raise a fierce, possessive glow in my chest. A desirable mate, my foolish, _demanding_ , little Not-Prey. I could envision him so clearly, getting up, naked, mostly sedated, but _stubborn_ and _determined_ , after our fight with the Bad Blood, and hobbling through the valley back toward his home. Scars thick and vivid and shining with the sweat on his back, proving his tenacity. My Not-Prey did not die easily.

 _This_ thought brought pride with it. He’d been a worthy Prey, a rewarding hunt, but ultimately, I was glad I had left him alive. _Distracted_ or not, I had every intention of going back to pay my Not-Prey another visit. And in the meantime, I quelled my desire with the skill of a practiced Hunter, and contented myself with wondering what the Not-Prey had been doing with himself, and his time, in the interim between my visits.

He’d had chickens caged in wire and wood the last time I’d set foot on the ground outside his home. And raised beds of carrots and tomatoes. Would he have acquired other animals to fill his yard? Planted other crops, to test their growth in his soil?

There had been that female voice speaking to the recording device attached to the Not-Prey’s phone, _Eileen_ , talking of photos from the camera traps in the valley being used in some sort of breeding program. Had my Not-Prey, _Noah_ , called the perky female from the parks department back and talked about that? The thought was a disconcertingly uncomfortable one.

It was hearing that message, directed toward my Not-Prey, that had delivered to him the name _Noah_ , branded him with it, and brought him down from a thing of the valley, untethered, _wild_ , to merely human. A _desirable_ human, but still a human. Somehow the memory of my Not-Prey with a name, and the understanding of him interacting with others of his kind and _responding_ to that name, left me with unease and annoyance.

The Not-Prey was human. But he was also _more_ , and what did humans know about that? None of them knew the Noah who went down into the valley with nothing but a bow and the retracting blade I had left with him.

 _That_ was the Not-Prey who had always known I was near and never failed to challenge me or scold me for damaging his countertop.

The more I thought of my Not-Prey with his own kind, the more the urge to see him, to handle him, make him articulate those needy sounds I’d gotten out of him on his living room floor, tugged at me. What would be the harm in going back to Earth? The valley was a fine hunting ground and the Not-Prey a more than worthwhile partner. Even his own kind could figure that out, if they weren’t so blind.

Getting permission to go back to Earth was easy, but the process still felt long to me, and by the time I was granted permission for my hunt, I decided not to wait to pay a visit to my Not-Prey. I had waited a day the last time I came to earth, but not this time. I internally chided myself for, once again, acting like a Youngblood with a crush, but I didn’t let it distract me from my purpose.

I wanted to fuck my Not-Prey, until he admitted defeat, as he had on his floor, his voice husky and _needy_. I intended to make him groan, and I wanted to do it in his bed. It was one thing to initiate a union with a potential mate when and where you could, it was another to pair with the same mate in their personal space. I wanted to have my Not-Prey in the place he slept night after night. It would be scented heavily of him.

The thought lingered in my mind, even as the Not-Prey’s house came into sight and I reasoned it would be easy enough to get what I wanted. I had arrived in the cold hours before dawn and I expected Noah to be asleep. Easy to let myself into his home, slip down the hall, and into the room where he slept. At that point either he would wake, knowing I was there, lurking over him, with that uncanny way he had, or he would not and I would have the opportunity to watch him sleep.

My heart gave a skip at the notion of sneaking up on my ever-demanding Not-Prey, asleep and unsuspecting. I had seen him unconscious numerous times, broken and near-dead, but there was something different in the idea of having him at my mercy, simply because he didn’t know I was there. He had never given me that, the way other humans did, because the Not-Prey was not like the rest of his kind.

I spared a glance for the objects of my consideration, while I was away from Earth. The wire and wood construction that had housed his chickens on my last visit was empty, but perhaps that was to be expected. It was far later in the year than I normally hunted in the valley and the temperature was far lower than most domesticated animals could stand. The same held true for growing plants and my Not-Prey’s raised beds stood empty.

His door opened for me as freely as ever, not locked, and I made my way down the hall as silently as possible. There would be no giving the Not-Prey a sporting chance of noticing me this time. Either he would on his own or he wouldn’t; I would leave it on him.

I stilled when I reached Noah’s open door, viewing what was inside, and wondering if I had miscalculated, yet again, and my Not-Prey had somehow already known I was there. I had expected to find him in bed, one way or another, but the place where he had obviously lain for some time was empty and cooling, near cold. Only a bare trace of body heat lingered in the center of the bed and caught in the thrown-aside blankets.

Internally, I cursed myself for incompetence and acting the infatuated Youngblood. I could have swept the house for heat signatures before entering but hadn’t bothered, allowing my foolish expectations and impatience to get the best of me. Quickly, heart not quite steady, I swept the house now, and my already uncooperative heart raced a little faster when I found Noah’s heat signature prone on his roof. The fact he was alive was comforting, the fact his core temperature was dropping toward a dangerous level and his extremities registered near the point I knew would equal numbness and insensitivity for a human, was not.

And what was the Not-Prey doing on the roof of his dwelling in what for him was the bitter cold before dawn? Not hiding from me. He had never once hid from me since I hunted him, not even when he had shown some fear. I could not imagine him hiding from _anything_ , but if something had chased him to the roof, it was a clear threat.

My wrist blades were out by the time I thundered out the Not-Prey’s door and I was ready for a fight when my leap brought me to his roof, but the moment my feet connected with the shingles I again had to wonder just what it was the Not-Prey was capable of doing to my sensibilities. My jump had been over-fast and without caution. Clumsy. Like a Youngblood, yet again, and noisy. My nails scraped on the rough shingles and I was instantly rewarded for my foolishness by the Not-Prey’s eyes zeroing in on me.

“Fucker!” he swore, his lips peeling back from his teeth in fierce challenge and annoyance. Both of which dropped off his face a moment later, when he mostly fell back from his half-reclined position to a completely prone one. “Well, you might as well have a seat if you’re here,” he said, no longer angry at being surprised. Instead sounding tired, worn, _pain-worn_ if I had to guess, and harsh for it. “I wasn’t expecting you, so don’t expect me to play gracious host.”

I stood there a moment, reading the situation, understanding I had again misjudged and whatever the reason Noah was up on his roof, in pain and a vulnerable and foolish position, it wasn’t because he was in any form of danger. Much of me saw his lowering core temperature and wanted to snatch him off the shingles and bring him into his house, where I could properly warm him, but the rest of me saw this would, yet again, be an unwise move. He had settled back and wasn’t lashing out at me, was inviting me to stay, but the cast of my Not-Prey was not relaxed. Not at ease. He had the same pinched, ready-to-spring set to his body I had seen in many injured Prey brought to ground. He was in clear discomfort, but he was not beaten and he would fight if pushed to do anything he did not want to do.

And the Not-Prey _did not_ want to be brought into his house. The Not-Prey wanted me to join him, if I was not going to leave.

Quietly, I retracted my wrist blades and deactivated my cloak, before taking the last steps separating us and sitting cross-legged, as near him as I dared. Tense, my hands clasped my knees, while my helm continued to monitor his internal temperature. The Not-Prey, I decided, had a set amount of time to work through whatever had brought him up here. After that, he was going in, whether he appreciated the fact or not.

As if reading my intention in my body language, the Not-Prey frowned at me, somewhere between displeasure and thoughtfulness. Then, a dull flash of heat stained his cheeks, as if hot blood were pooling there, and he turned his face away, speaking to hide whatever it was he was thinking.

“You know…” he began, voice slow, eyes locked on the sky, “I was up here the week before we met that first time, when I was fifteen. I took three of… well, not so much my friends, but some people I knew up here and we watched the stars. I made a wish on a shooting star that night, only I forgot what it was I wished for almost as soon as I thought it. After, the four of us went inside and fell asleep on the living room floor. It wasn’t much of a night.”

I’d already been looking at the Not-Prey, monitoring his core temperature, as it continued to fall, but what he said made my hands tighten on my knees and my head cock toward him in an obvious admission of attention I knew he did not miss when he turned to frown at me in annoyance again. Even he must be growing tired of my Youngblood displays of possessiveness, but I did not like the thought of him, of _my Noah_ , the one who ran through the valley, the one who came to challenge me with nothing but a knife when he was little more than a Youngblood himself, bringing others up here or sharing the private moments of sleep with them.

 _They_ weren’t _worthy_ of _him_. Undeserving, though whether he saw it that way, I couldn’t tell. Grumbling wordlessly, Noah jerked his chin back to the sky, and went on with what it was that occupied his mind.

“Anyway. The stars were different that night. It was summer then and it’s almost winter now. Different season, different sky map.” He made a dismissive gesture at the air with his hands. “Doesn’t matter. Do you look at the stars where you come from? I can only imagine what you would name the constellations. Not that humans are that great at it, really.”

He stopped and seemed to sneak a look at me, as if testing to see if I were going to press the matter of his getting off the roof. Something I was not ready to do, despite the unease I felt at his lowering body heat. In some part of me, I realized I had relaxed somewhat with the understanding it wasn’t others of his race the Not-Prey wanted to discuss, but something more to my interest.

<< _Stars_ >> I said for his benefit, so he would know I was listening and maybe goad him into continuing before I _did_ need to take him off this roof.

“Yeah, stars,” he muttered, irritably, as if somehow displeased with me for this observation. Less than satisfied with my unanticipated presence or not, my Not-Prey still went on, pointing out two groupings of stars humans apparently called “dippers” for whatever reason, and one star they used for navigation. Something more useful and relevant. Humans chose to see strange things in the stars, it seemed. Yautja were not like that. We rarely named the star patterns, and when we did, it was for better purpose.

I hardly noticed Noah had dropped silent, until he began to speak again, voice careful, as if what he said next was said with reverence.

“The brightest constellation in the winter sky is Orion. Orion, well, Orion is special.”

Something in that respectful tone made me turn my attention up to the star pattern, as he traced it with a finger and named the stars making up the body and belt of the man in the stars. I quickly let my focus drop back to the Not-Prey, when he pointed out what was obviously the brightest star in the sky and the two groupings humans thought of as this Orion’s domesticated animals. Noah clearly had a _reason_ for what he was saying, but he was taking his time getting there, and the rate heat was leaving his body, seeping into the shingles below his body, as much and more as into the air around him, was more instantly pressing than his limited trivia regarding the sky.

I shifted minutely, running numbers in my head, calculating just how much longer my Not-Prey could stay out here without sustaining somewhat permanent damage to his system. He didn’t have much more time, whether he got to his point or not.

But he had some time and I knew better than to press before it was needed. So, I watched him and let him talk about the star pattern he called Orion with some feeling and let him review for me the fact stars didn’t hold certain, _set_ , positions in ever-shifting space. Naturally this was true, Yautja had known it before we were capable of traveling to other worlds to hunt Prey. The fact was arbitrary and my attention waned to contemplating what I would have to do to make him behave when he had had enough and I brought him into the warmth against his will. If a shift in the Not-Prey’s vocal pattern hadn’t alerted me to the fact he was saying something he felt of importance, I might have missed what he said next.

“Orion has been up there as long as humans have been looking up and giving the stars names. And he’ll still be up there long after there aren’t any of us left who’ll remember his name. In a way, you could say he’s constant. Always there. I’ve seen him ride up the sky every fall since my grandfather taught me the sky maps and how to spot him, and I’ve watched him drop below the horizon as each winter turns to spring. Sometimes I find myself talking to him…”

He grunted a sound when the words were out, and dared a shy glance at me, as if he wasn’t sure whether I was growing impatient with him or not. The Not-Prey had always been intuitive. I sat there with my head cocked to the side, the sensors in my helm showing me his internal temperature, as I weighed the time he had left. Not much.

But the Not-Prey didn’t seem to need much. Just a little more. And I felt if I nudged him to the point, he would say what he was leading towards. I had not tracked Prey for more years than he had been alive to not know when the trail had almost led to the prize. << _Orion_ >> I said, after he lingered a little too long in silence.

He sighed and grimaced, knowing what I was thinking, or near it. Smart, little Not-Prey. And even smarter to continue before I risked his ire and pulled him off his roof.

“Yeah, Orion,” he muttered, shutting his eyes and shivering. “Orion. He’s called the Hunter.”

 _The Hunter._ The admission had the reluctant sound of having been withheld until now, and I turned my head from him to the stars and back again, debating. But the Not-Prey hardly seemed to want a response and I did not break his flow of words, now that he was reaching his point.

“That first fall after you fucked up my leg, I looked up and there he was in the sky. It made me think about you.” He grimaced again. “But then, everything made me think of you because everything fucking _hurt_. Still… Orion… he brought you to mind often because I just didn’t have anything to _call_ you. I think after I saw him that time, somewhere in the back of my mind, I started thinking of you as Orion, even if I never really _called_ you that.

“Ouch! Fuck!”

The last words were harsh and edged with pain and they drew my full attention on the Not-Prey. I made an agitated clicking, as I watched him curl into an aching ball and almost roll off the slanted surface of his roof. Luckily for him, I was there to catch him before his fall could send him smashing through the enclosure he used to house his chickens in warmer seasons. Hissing and chittering things I knew he wouldn’t understand, but which were still directed at the Not-Prey, so he would _know_ he’d had enough and would now admit to it, I picked him up and carried him back into a bedroom where he had unwisely left his crutch leaned up against a hulk of a bed.

Not _his_ bed, not the one he used every night, but a bed that belonged to him, all the same, and one that looked more than sound enough for my purposes. Purposes hurried on by the Not-Prey himself.

“Alright already!” he snapped at me. “Let go of me!” He said the last, aiming a slap to my bicep to punctuate the point. The Not-Prey _did not_ like being carried, despite how his leg hampered his movements. Though the slap hardly registered as pain, I tolerated it and gave him some of what he wanted, turning and putting him down on the bed.

My Not-Prey did not take any more kindly to my maneuvering him onto his stomach on the bed than he had to my carrying him. Still resisting, despite the fact he had _had enough_ , he struggled under my hands and demanded, “Hey!” even as his flailing knocked his crutch over and away from the bed. Perhaps frustrated by this, perhaps for other, more pleasurable reasons, more hot blood flooded his face, and he aimed a kick at me with his good leg.

I caught his ankle, and pressed the whole weight of my other hand into the small of his trembling back. << _Still_ >> I said for his benefit. It was a pity my Not-Prey was in no condition to be allowed to come at me, as he had the last time. He clearly _wanted_ to, but he was in pain and he was cold and he had _had enough_. And he knew it too, once he settled for a moment and took stock of himself.

“Shit,” he muttered, and I took it for admission of his defeat and used the fact I had a hold on his leg to pull his pants off. “Mother fucker!” he spat at the move, but the moment my hand come down on the thigh of his bad leg and dug into the muscle, he unwound under me, his leg jerking once, then going pliant beneath my palm, as the Not-Prey moaned, “Oh god.” It was needy already, and I paused, feeling a tightening in my groin at the practical admission my Not-Prey might be worn but he still felt _want_.

Want directed at _me_.

“Well, don’t stop!” he chided, when I was still too long, absorbing this, and I laughed at him, chittering behind my helm and resuming my ministrations, while he went limp under me.

As I worked the tension out of his leg, my Not-Prey making contented sounds beneath me, the smell of his arousal began seeping through the filters of my helm just as I had envisioned numerous times on the hunt. Not that I needed it to see how my attentions were affecting him. He was wet between his legs by the time I concluded he had had enough of this, as well.

I was hard and aching and ready to claim my Not-Prey in this bed of his, but I still waited a moment after I took my hands away from him. Giving him a chance to decide what he, himself wanted to do. Free, he turned over and half sat up, using his palms to support himself. He was still partly shivering, but his core temperature now read at acceptable numbers and he was eyeing my own, obvious reaction to him and being in physical contact with him. He bared his teeth at me in an attractive, if presumptuous display, and snarled, “Well, what are you waiting for?”

Satisfied with this, I regretted, once again, my Not-Prey was in no condition for more than that challenge, but it still raised my blood to see his undaunted will. My Not-Prey had been beaten down numerous times, but even when I made him surrender, he was never _beat_. Rumbling low, pleased sounds, I removed my armor and watched as Noah imitated me, throwing the last piece of his clothing to the floor.

Already mostly on the bed with him, all I needed to do was grasp him by the hips and settle him on my lap, slowly allowing him to sink unto me. I had to be slow. I still remembered his concerned sounds the last time we had paired, and though he made no such protests now, it was important to remember the Not-Prey was small and delicate and had been in pain.

Even moving slowly, he still groaned in some discomfort and slumped into me, his arms going around my neck and his head landing on my shoulder. The last time we’d done this, my Not-Prey’s heat, and the way his body gripped on mine, had almost been enough to make me come before I’d even begun to move. It was no different now. I had been away so long, his body had forgotten mine and needed to be re-broken to my cock. This made it hard to be _still_ , to _wait_ , but my Not-Prey’s breath on my neck oddly helped.

He was breathing hot, little puffs, like pants, against my skin and almost nuzzling into my dreadlocks. While I held myself motionless and my mind wandered with the twitching of my Not-Prey, my _Noah’s_ , insides around me, I considered if he was smelling me. Scenting the whiffs of my home lingering on me. The thought he might _like_ what he was breathing in set off a glow in my chest.

It made me almost want to _purr_ with pleasure and to drag my nails down his sides. Softly. Just enough to make him squirm and grip me harder. A good distraction. A good fantasy. A good way to _wait_ , but not one to hold me for long. Carefully, I began rocking up into the Not-Prey, testing his body’s reaction. When he didn’t complain or register pain, I felt confidence in moving faster, eliciting a better response from my little Not-Prey.

“Oh, god,” he groaned again, burying his nose deeper into my dreadlocks, even as a sharp sting broke out across my shoulders and upper back. My Not-Prey, scratching his blunt nails hard enough over my skin I felt the faint trickle of blood running down my back.

My heart skittered, lust breaking out in my gut, as my vision narrowed. Of all the humans I’d hunted, only this one, this _one man_ , had ever broken my skin, and it pushed me to fuck up into him harder and faster than I’d originally intended, pushing the limits of what I thought my Not-Prey could take.

Noah made no protest, though. Instead, digging his nails deeper into me, and squirming around on my cock, as if begging to be able to move himself. Something he could not do in this position, however. I had him helpless and at my mercy, and he would have to accept it. The thought thrilled me because Noah so seldom allowed himself to be at my mercy.

Only a few moments of this and his panting picked up. “I want to… to…” The trailing statement was near delirious and fucked out, but I understood it. He really was pleading now, wanting to come and needing a push to bring him there. Truly purring now, pleased with my ability to ruin him, my demanding, fierce, little Not-Prey, so thoroughly, I obliged him and brought a hand between his legs and rubbed at him with the pad of a thumb. Careful to give his swollen clit attention, while minding my claw that could easily tear him up.

“Ngh! Ehhh!” The garbled, inarticulate sounds were meant for words, I was sure, but it seemed I’d driven my Not-Prey past the point of saying actual words. He clinched hard around me, stiffening, as his orgasm hit him. The clamp of his body around my cock was enough to pull me through my own climax, and I hissed a little, as he slumped against me, hanging on my neck.

“Fuck,” he gasped, after a short while. A few more moments to gather himself and my Not-Prey was nearly back to his demanding self. “Fuck, could you put me down?” he grumbled.

Amused, and showing it with soft sounds, I gripped his hips and eased him off my lap and into a more comfortable position on his side on his bed. If that position also showcased how much I’d wrecked him and how my cum still leaked out of his well-used hole, well that was nothing of any matter. A thick, possessive heat rising in my chest, I let my claws graze over the skin of his legs, his thighs, letting small beads of blood spring up in their wake.

My Not-Prey didn’t complain or snarl at me for it. He lay there a while, before groaning and pushing himself up on an elbow. “We should go shower…” he muttered, half-hearted, his eyes dragging to the door tiredly. “Ah, screw it!” he huffed. “I don’t have the energy for this shit tonight.”

I turned my head to watch him pluck and fuss at the topmost blanket, we had already soiled, a moment, before it registered what he was tiring to do. << _Shit_ >> I repeated after him, and reached in to take over the operation. It would be easier if I did it at this point, with the Not-Prey exhausted from pain, cold, and sex.

Yanking the blanket out from under him, I used it to remove the worst of our tacky fluids from both our bodies before tossing it away. What became of it or how the Not-Prey cleaned up, once I was gone, was none of _my_ concern. What mattered to me was the Not-Prey in the _now_.

I went on the bed with him, settled him on my body, with his bad leg resting in the dip between mine, and pulled another blanket over us, to ensure the Not-Prey stayed warm while he slept. Once set, I let my hands run up and down his back, to further sooth him into sleep. He deserved the rest after the exertion I’d put him through.

My Not-Prey was not ready to sleep, however. He pressed his palms on my chest and propped himself up, so he could look at me. At my helm, I’d neglected to take off in order to monitor his body temperature. “Damn it!” he swore, voice shaking with some deep emotion. “Come back a little sooner next time, why don’t you!”

It was a demand and the Not-Prey’s eyes were glistening brightly, making my heart skip. Tears. Those were tears in his eyes. _Angry_ tears, true. But still tears. Tears because _I_ had been away from him too long.

Careful, mindful of my claws near his eyes, I reached up and smudged the salt water off his face. << _Come back_ >> I said, attempting to reassure him, even as he pushed at my fingers, brushing them away.

“Alright! Enough already!” he sputtered at me, voice edged with frustration. “Yeah. You did come back,” he admitted at last.

Moving slow, wondering if he’d resist, I slid my fingers between his and used the leverage to bring his hands and arms up, to dangle around my neck again. I found I liked the Not-Prey, _Noah_ , my mind whispered, in this position, and it allowed his head to rest on my chest, over my heart. He didn’t resist. He lay still, as my hands went back to the thigh of his bad leg. Caressed small circles into it.

There was no quicker way to quiet my Not-Prey, and this was no exception. Soon, he was muttering intelligible things and drifting off with his fingers mindlessly stroking through my dreadlocks. An unconscious action of possessiveness.

Once I was assured he was fully asleep, I brought a claw up near his face and moved a fall of hair away from his cheek. _Come back sooner next time_ , he’d said and maybe I should. My life was longer than that of even humans with the easiest and most pampered of lives. My Not-Prey had not lived that kind of life. His body had been pushed to its limits nearly his whole life, and gray was already starting to show in the hair at his temples, despite the fact he couldn’t have lived more than forty years, by Earth time. If I wanted more time with my Not-Prey like this, I would have to take it and quickly.

Something hot settling in my chest, I glanced out the window he’d crawled out of, to see the stars, earlier. The grouping of stars he’d called Orion hung low over the horizon, laying over on its side.

_Orion._

Somewhere in his mind, he called me that. When I had learned his name, _Noah_ , it had brought him down from a wild thing of the valley to just human. But Noah had not done the same in naming me. He hadn’t tried to _control_ me or _lower_ me. Instead, he’d raised me to the stars and inadvertently given me an honor.

Yautja did not name the stars for pleasure. When we named them at all, it was for reasons of navigation, or, for an exceptionally skilled Hunter, to immortalize their name for all time. The few constellations Yautja looked up to see in the night sky and taught the Youngbloods to find, were named for the legendary Hunters of years passed.

By naming me after the Hunter of the humans’ night sky, my Not-Prey had given me a form of immortality.

Constant, he’d called the star pattern. A permanent feature of the human psyche. And, perhaps, the Not-Prey’s most of all. He had been a consistent part of my life on Earth almost his whole life. The unintended, unexpected thing I kept running across at various points in time, like a kind determined windfall, and if I wanted to continue meeting my Not-Prey, my Noah, I would have to work to keep it that way.

Keep it that way… for as long as I could.

**Author's Note:**

> This salty ball of angst and glitter is an original fiction author and fan fiction writer, who literally lives for comments and reader interaction. Even if this is nothing but inarticulate vowel screams, lol. He exist on a flotilla of social media, separated into a wide array writery things.
> 
> If you are crazy enough to want to see what I'm writing on any given day, and maybe try tempting me into writing something specific, feel free to join me in my personal writing Discord [Midway](https://discord.gg/jsQw96p), or friend me on Discord at LeoOtherland#7066 if you would rather chat one on one.
> 
> On Facebook I can be located on my [author page](https://www.facebook.com/LeoOtherland/) for all things original fiction, or in the [AO3 Armada group](https://www.facebook.com/groups/601270063618951) for all things fan fiction.
> 
> On [Twitter](https://twitter.com/RoseOfOtherLand) or [Tumbler](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/leootherlands) I primarily run with the fan fiction crowd and I seldom post and/or tweet anything, but if you want to drop me a line, I am always up for a chat.


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